A writer, lover, thinker, and midwestern, book-loving sexpot.

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One of the things I have difficulty deciding on is whether or not to write in first person or third person. I love the first person voice. It can be personal and expressive. A narrator can often take a mundane story and turn it into something special. But it’s not easy to do. Especially if you’re writing a supernatural mystery-thriller-romance like yours truly.

After getting pretty far into my novel, I’ve realized that the first person voice just isn’t going to work. I love it, and I wish I could keep it, but I’ve decided my vision is more important and to fulfill my vision, I simply must write in third person. This will free me up to follow different characters and create a better story. It sucks that I have to rewrite all that I’ve written, but I think it’s worth it. I’m looking at it like a trial run, and now the real race begins.

But what about you, friends and patriots? What perspective do you like to use when writing? How does that affect your work?

I’m going to be spending a lot of time editing, rewriting, and honing my current novel. I’m going to pay for a good cover design. In short, I’ll be spending a lot of time editing and designing the best book that I can. Since I want exposure, I’ll be releasing it for free, which brings me to my question for any of you out there.

Is it too much for me to ask those who download my novel to give it a review or a recommendation on their blog? My vision is this: If someone downloads it, they give it a short review. It can be good or bad — as long as it’s honest. For those who don’t want to review it, but liked it, perhaps they could recommend it? That would be the only payment I need.

I don’t want to sound selfish, so please let me know if I’m coming off that way. It was just a thought I had, and to me it sounds like a good one.

I’ve been working on my novel off and on for the past few months. It’s just about 30,000 words, so the pace has been pretty slow, but I’m trying to spend as much time as I can developing a great story. I can say that it’s a supernatural thriller and it’s rather unique. Sure there are vampires and ghouls like most supernatural thrillers, but I’m trying to go into some new territory and incorporate some mythology that isn’t quite as mainstream. Here is one of my inspirations from Deviant Artist raiu-alive.

I can’t wait to get this book up on the Amazon store, but I’m trying to take my time and deliver something with as much high quality as possible. And good news friends! I’m going to be releasing it for FREE!!

It’s after midnight and I’m drinking coffee because why not? I’m not a great sleeper and tend to spend my nights a few hours sleeping and a few hours wasting away on the internet. Oh and writing. I do that too, and in fact have been doing that much more often as of late. I’ve been working on a novella as a way to experiment and better understand my main characters in my upcoming novel.

It’s set in Miami. Swimmers at a beach start to go missing and no bodies are recovered. The authorities think it’s a series of drownings, but my protagonists, Tegan and Mika, know better. They try to discover the source of the crimes and what they find causes them to encounter a force they never have before. How do they defeat something that survives underwater?

So I’m pretty excited about it. I’ve never written a thriller/paranormal/romance story before, but it’s fun and forcing me to delve deeper into my creativity. I’m hoping to have it done by the end of March. I’ll have it edited and have a book cover designed in April, and hopefully by the end of that month or early May you’ll be able to download it from the Amazon bookstore. It will be offered for FREE! So tell your friends!

I’m a big fan of paranormal thrillers, but since I’m actually writing one right now, I have no interest in reading them. Instead, I’m focusing a lot of time on reading online publications and previously read novels. It made me wonder. Do others tend to not read the genre they’re currently writing in? But if you do read the same genre, do you find it influences your story?

The reason I don’t is because I’m trying to be as original as possible. This is not to say, for example, that those who are reading and writing paranormal thrillers simultaneously are copying each other. But personally, I tend to take on the voice of the writer I’m currently reading and right now, I’m trying not to do that.

So, do you read the same genre in which you write? If no, why not? If yes, do you find it influences your writing?

**Author’s note:** My current novel will include some sexy scenes, and I’ve never written them before. This is a practice run for me, so feedback and criticism is more than welcome. My main concern is that this is too erotic/smutty. I want it to be sexy, full of innuendo and implication, but not explicit. What do you think?

WARNING: This story is definitely rated R and not safe for work.

Vulnerability

“Trust me,” he says and kisses my neck.

He stands at my back and wraps his arms around me. His right hand rises and holds my breasts tightly. His left moves to my hip, his fingers falling lower and caressing my inner thigh. I lean my head back and exhale. A sigh of pleasure parts with my lips and my heart beats, embarrassed. This seems to turn Clay on. His breath deepens and he exhales in the crook of my neck, his warm breath wisping over my collar bone.

He pushes away from me and I feel his hand gently grazing my neck. He grabs the zipper to my dress and pulls, loosing it from my shoulders. With his hand he pushes the fabric from me and I feel my clothes drop to the floor. I wear only a red thong. The room is slightly cool and I feel my skin tighten, my nipples becoming erect. I shiver. Clay’s hands are at my ankles, grazing my skin. He moves upward, touching my ankles, my thighs. His hands tickle me and provide me a contrast of warmth against the coolness of his room. He pushes his finger under the fabric of my panties and pulls them to the floor.

“Just enjoy it,” he says. “Relax.”

I met Clay in the hotel lobby. He stood waiting while the bellboy loaded his bags onto a cart. When he saw me he smiled and I turned away. He got onto the elevator and I thought that was the last I’d see of him. But of course, it wasn’t. I couldn’t sleep, so I went to the hotel bar and ordered a martini. I lit a cigarette. The I heard a man’s voice, “Would you happen to have an extra?”

I looked at him and my eyes jumped. This was an unexpected surprise. I handed him a cigarette and my lighter. “You and I,” he said, “We have a connection.”

Clay kisses me on the small of my back and works his way up my spine to the crest of my neck. Then, gently, he grabs my shoulders and lays me face down on the bed. I follow his lead, but I feel myself guarded. I’ve only just met him, after all, but inside I want to let go. I want to let myself be vulnerable.

“Wait for a moment,” he says. “No peeking.”

I hear a shuffling noise. I wait twenty, thirty seconds, then feel his weight depress the mattress. “This might be a little cold,” he says, and I feel little pinches of moisture drip onto my back. His hands rub the oil over my skin. It smells of lavender and vanilla. Clay’s strong hands caress my body, massaging away my tension, my apprehension. I allow myself a moan of pleasure.

“I studied massage therapy,” he tells me.

“Of course you did,” I reply.

He laughs and continues. He works on my legs, and back, and shoulders. When he feels my body ease, he goes back to my legs and moves his hands along my inner thigh, going higher and higher. I feel myself tingle and try to suppress it. Then I feel his fingers touching me intimately, continuing the massage, but its far more satisfying.

It was his confidence that brought me up to his room. A normal man would have been turned off by my flippancy toward his advances, but not Clay. Every time I denied him, he would smile and sit quietly, gazing at me with his dark hazel eyes. Even when I looked away and turned my back to him, he didn’t budge. He just sat there, drinking his tequila until I turned around again.

“Who the hell drinks tequila straight?” I asked.

“My father is from Mexico. This is the only way we drink it.”

It isn’t until Clay turns me over that I realize he is nude. And his body isn’t bad. He’s toned and slim and his dark skin looks like caramel in the dim lights. I look below his waist and see that I’m not the only one aroused.

“Not bad,” I tell him.

“Shhhh,” he replies.

He starts at my toes, kissing and tickling them with his tongue. Then he moves to my ankles, then to my shin and calves. When he comes to my thighs he runs his hands down the sides of my legs, then grabs me and pulls me up to his mouth. I put my hands on his shoulders, uncertain that I want him to continue, but he just smiles like he did in the bar and lowers his head between my legs.

The more we drank, the friendlier we became. His hand was suddenly resting on my bare knee and I didn’t know for how long. I looked at his hand, then up to him. “You’re sly. I didn’t even notice you were touching me.”

He smiled mischievously and began stroking my skin. He moved his hand slightly higher, then leaned in and kissed me. My response was delayed, but after feeling his warm and moist lips touching mine, there was little I could do but surrender to him a kiss. He pulled away and smiled and said, “You’re a good kisser.”

“That’s the best line you’ve got?”

“I’m a firm believer that actions speak louder than words.”

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“Come up to my room and let me show you.”

Clay licks me until I fully surrender and release a moan. I feel my muscles loosen, as if dissolving into the bed. He lifts himself up and gazes at me with his dark eyes, causing my breath to shudder. “Finally relaxed,” he says, then leans down and licks my breasts. He kisses my skin and flicks my nipple with his tongue, then presses his weight against me.

He starts slowly, rhythmically. I ask him to go faster, but he doesn’t. Instead, he goes deeper, and it makes me want him more. I feel my body begin to tense again and suddenly, unexpectedly my toes curl and my breath escapes my mouth uncontrollably. In this instant, his hips spasm and he elevates my back and I feel him and are eyes meet and then it stops and we relax and he’s on top of me like a heavy quilt.

We breathe the same rhythm. He rolls off of me and adjusts his bed sheets. He pulls them up to cover us and we curl up together. I face him and with his free hand he pushes away some loose strands of hair that cling to my face. “Let’s just lay here like this all night,” he says.

One of the challenges of writing a novel that prominently features sexual tension and romance is actually being able to build up that tension without sounding like some poorly acted porno. (And on a side not, I’ve seen enough porn to know what NOT to do.) Previously, my prose has shied away from more explicitly written love scenes, opting instead for something a bit more poetic, that fades out before anything too R rated occurs.

That’s not my goal with my current novel. I want this one to be sexy, a bit lusty and provocative, but definitely not smutty. The picture above is actually a perfect example of what I want to accomplish. You can see the girl is wearing no pants and straddles the man while their tongues touch in the heat of passionate kiss. It shows little and, in so doing, reveals quite a lot.

I’ll be working on some provocative scenes in the coming days as a way to practice. I’ll be posting a few of them in the hope that I can get some feedback. And of course, this also means that I’ll have to do some research. Looks like I’ll be going to the bookstore to pick up some things. I’d love it if anyone had any recommendations. I’m also going to watch something from this list of sexy movie scenes. I’m thinking Unfaithful…and maybe a few…lesser mainstream films as well.